


Tawg's Terrible Prompts

by Mikey (mikes_grrl)



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, Snippets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-05 03:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikes_grrl/pseuds/Mikey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This will be a series of snippets based on prompts Tawg has thrown viciously at me via twitter. Therefore, it is all Tawg's fault. :)</p><p>I'm posting them as chapters because people always complain when I make a series out of short stories. I'm not entirely sure what the difference is but I do aim to please.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. It's all in the telling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tawg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tawg/gifts).



> This will be a series of snippets based on prompts Tawg has thrown viciously at me via twitter. Therefore, it is all Tawg's fault. :)
> 
> I'm posting them as chapters because people always complain when I make a series out of short stories. I'm not entirely sure what the difference is but I do aim to please.

Clint woke up to find his left leg was encapsulated by a cast, and chances were good that things were staying that way for a while. Clint was used to medical and being grounded, it was familiar, and after the trauma of the last op he was glad to be alive enough to hate being laid up. 

More importantly, it was going to give him a chance to finally tell Phil how he felt. Their quick-and-dirty hook ups of the past three years were fun but Clint had realized, hanging upside down off a damaged thirty-story building in Bangkok with his severely broken leg screaming in pain while blood smoothly flowed down his back and dripped out of his hair, that he was going to die without facing up to how he felt.

Or more accurately, die without telling Phil how he really felt about him.

But Natasha had shown up just as the last bit of wreckage wrenched loose, sending Clint into free-fall. She caught him on her aerobike, or so he assumed since he just remembered screaming. The fact that he lived, though, meant something important, and Clint was an idiot but he wasn't stupid, and he never let a second chance get away if he had it in his sights. 

He heard the familiar beat of Phil's business shoes padding down the hall, heading for Clint's private room. Clint braced himself. He had no idea how long he had been out of things – long enough to get his leg in a cast, and cleaned up – but he was ready. It didn't matter what Phil said, because Clint was not going to keep living with regret. Win or lose, he was taking the shot.

Phil came in and smiled warmly at him, setting Clint's (totally illicit) coffee on the tray near the bed. 

"Phil?"

Phil glanced up at him, still wearing the friendly smile.

"I need to tell you something."

Phil expression turned wary, but he nodded. "Go ahead."

"I just need to tell you this. Whatever…whatever you decide. I don't care, but you have to know, I need to tell you." Clint took a deep breath. "I love you."

Clint's heart froze as Phil dropped his head into his hands and groaned. "Yes, Clint, I know."

"What? What the hell, Phil?" Clint pulled back as far as he could on the bed.

"You have a severe concussion with post-traumatic amnesia. This is the fourth time you've worked up the courage to tell me you love me. I get it. I love you too. We'll kiss, it will be great." Phil rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'm just not sure I can handle this much emotional turmoil from you in one week, let alone 24 hours."

"Well I'm so fucking sorry!" Clint crossed his arms. "How am I supposed to know I have amnesia?"

Phil stepped up to the bed and held Clint's face in his hands. "Because I'll tell you. Over and over and over again until you remember how much I love you." He leaned in and kissed him. 

Clint thought it was the best kiss he could ever remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 1: Fic where post-Loki Clint has some memory problems and he can't remember if he's told a recovering Phil that he loves him.
> 
> (I obviously reversed this one, so it will probably get another snippet that actually matches to prompt. But hey, author liberties, I TAKE THEM)


	2. Memoria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _Fic where post-Loki Clint has some memory problems and he can't remember if he's told a recovering Phil that he loves him._
> 
> *sigh* Finally answering the prompt properly. Written as exercise, so not heavily edited and probably kind of weak, but I like the ideas played with.

There were shades of memories that battered at him, flying by like shadows passing a window. He knew they were there, and even suspected what they were, but he could not _see_ them like he was supposed to.

The thing was, Clint would have been fine wondering what had happened while he was under Loki's thrall, in fact he would have been fucking thrilled for that to be a deep black hole in his mind. But no, what Loki had stolen with his tricks was far more precious: real memories of things and places and people who were important to Clint. Loki had erased such moments capriciously, on a whim, whenever he was bored with the texture of Clint's obedient mind. 

Loki had laughed every time.

Clint remembered that he loved Phil. He remembered times and places where that thought had bubbled up in his consciousness before being ruthlessly shoved back down. The memories of all the years he spent pining for Phil were there, unmolested, as painful and bright as ever.

As bright as the foul hospital lighting in Phil's room, grainy fluorescence washing the color out of everything. Not that Phil needed the help, lying on the bed looking pale, thin and sick. He had tubes going in and out of places that should never know the presence of tubing, but he was off the respirator, and sometimes he was even awake. Lucid, maybe not so much; but awake and delirious was better than comatose in Clint's opinion.

While Clint waited out being cleared for duty again, he mostly sat near Phil's bed and tried to grab the shadows of memory that he knew meant something. His instincts told him that he had admitted his feelings to Phil at some point recently, but Clint could not nail when that would have been, or how it would have happened. He was halfway to believing that he just imagined it. 

Natasha didn't mention anything to clue him in, but then he was holding his blank cards close to his chest. The more damaged he was, the longer it would take to be reinstated. He almost didn't care, but staying near Phil meant staying on with SHIELD, Avengers be damned, so he did not tell anyone about the things he couldn't remember. 

Phil looked at him every time he woke up. Sometimes he seemed anxious, and he mumbled incoherently for a while. Other times he just stared intently at Clint, as if he was waiting.

Clint wanted to tell him "I love you." He wanted to ask if he had already told Phil that once, sometime, before. He desperately wanted to know what Phil might have said when Clint told him, if anything. Had Phil pulled away and let him down gently? That seemed probable, to Clint. As much as he deserved. 

He tried to parse what was memory and what was wishful thinking. He knew that there was no telling what Loki had embedded into the dark corners of his mind. 

He and Phil had worked perfectly together for nearly ten years like a well-oiled machine. Clint figured they could go for another ten.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _Fic where Phil pushes himself too hard when he does his phyiso and Clint is worried that the massages are just encouraging him._
> 
> Written fast, for fun. Caveat emptor.

Phil practically fell into the living room, dripping sweat and looking pale. Clint got to him in a moment, wrapping an arm around his waist and leveraging Phil's weight to give them momentum enough to get to the bed room. 

"What the hell did Akim do to you?"

"The usual," Phil groaned as they both worked to lower him onto the bed. 

"Your physical therapy is supposed to make you stronger, not wring you out." Clint clucked as he went to get a warm, wet towel to wipe Phil down a little. It was just like after great sex, except for the fact that they had not had sex since Phil had "miraculously" turned up alive a week after the Battle of New York. That was several months ago, but Phil was just at the point of getting around on his own and not needing to wear bandaging over his wounds. Clint was terrified that too much exertion too soon would re-damage Phil's heart, but apparently Phil's PT therapist was not quite as worried. 

Or Phil was pulling a tried-and-true Hawkeye stunt. 

"You do this to yourself, don't you? You're hiding how much you hurt from Akim." Clint rubbed the towel over Phil's face and arms.

Phil grumbled incoherently, resembling a wet and sweaty noodle on their bed.

"Oh for fuck's sake, turn over. Take off your shirt." Clint grabbed the massage oil next to the bed. He was no expert, but Phil was having a hard time relaxing when other people touched him, so Clint had taken a few quick lessons from Sheila, his masseuse (because Tony passed out masseuses like party favors) and put them to use on Phil. 

He barely caught the evil little grin that tugged at the edge of Phil's mouth before he unzipped his shirt. 

Well, shit.

Clint put the oil back on the bedside table. "You know, maybe a turn in the hot tub would be a better idea."

Phil stilled. "That might be helpful." 

"Probably. I mean the hot tub would really relax you."

Phil hadn't moved, frozen in mid-strip. "The doctors said I should go easy on the hot tub, actually."

"Oh, they did?" 

"The hot water expands my blood, making the heart work harder."

"Yeah?"

"Yes." Phil still wasn't looking at him. 

"So a massage is what you really need," Clint prompted.

"Yes. Absolutely." Phil nodded firmly.

Clint sat back on his heels. "And this has nothing to do with you pushing yourself too hard just to get me to give you a massage after PT?"

The flinch was almost imperceptible. Anyone who did not know Phil as well as Clint did would have thought it was just a blink of the eyes. "No?"

"For fuck's sake, Phil!" Clint got off the bed. "What the hell? Pushing yourself too hard is seriously not a good idea after being stabbed through the chest!" Clint stood over the bed, crossing his arms so he didn't windmill them around in frustration.

Phil flopped onto his back, his face grimacing. "You won't fucking touch me!"

"What are you talking about? I touch you all the damn time!"

"Not like…you're really helpful, Clint. You're always there when I need a hand getting off the couch or getting dressed or trying to pull a cereal box down." Phil put a hand over his eyes, huffing out a deep breath. "But that's it. You're not _touching_ me."

Oh.

"Uh, well, you know, sex is—"

" _Really important_ ," Phil snarled. "You know damn good and well we got clearance for sex weeks ago. As long as we're careful there is no reason we can't do it." 

"It's strenuous. It puts stress on your _heart_ , Phil! And I'm not going to be the one who hurts you again!"

"Loki! Loki stabbed me, not you! Is that what this is, some kind of penance? Because let me tell you, Barton, going celibate on me is not a well-thought out reward system!" Phil sat up. 

"I'm not—"

"I'm begging for massages because that's the only time you really put your hands on me, and you only agree to do that when I'm wrung out after PT. What did you expect?" Phil was yelling, pointing at Clint with a stabby finger.

Clint backed up. "I just don't want to hurt you."

Phil snapped his mouth shut. He breathed in and out a few beats before trying again. "You're not hurting me by making me feel better. You won't hurt me by letting me make you feel great." He looked up at Clint, the longing and desire and sadness writ large over his face. Clint felt like a heel seeing that on the man he loved, because all he wanted to do was make Phil feel better about being alive. Phil was right: Clint had been shying away from sex and intimacy because of his own guilt and fear, and that was not going to get them anywhere. Especially if Phil gave himself a heart-attack in PT just to get Clint to touch him.

Clint stepped up to the bed. "Guess I just fucked up again, huh?"

Phil's expression shifted to a sly leer. "You could make it up to me."

Clint crawled back onto the bed, straddling Phil's thighs. "Why Agent Coulson, whatever do you mean?" Clint batted his lashes.

Phil grinned, his hands running up Clint's thighs. "Let me show you." 

#


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _Fic where Clint works in a comic books store and keeps suggesting gay romance and smut comics to his favourite customer._
> 
> Again, I kind of fail to keep on task. :/

Clint's first suggestion was Batwoman. It was strategic. "Hey, Kate and Maggie. Two hot chicks making out, crime fighting super-heroine in a tight costume, what's not to like? Whole new arc just starting." He waved the new issue around alluringly.

Phil Coulson, who clearly made mad money because he spent about $100 a week on comics and dressed in bespoke suits that cost more than Clint's 1989 Datsun B12 did when it was new, wrinkled his nose. "There's more to comics than two women making out. Anyway I haven't been interested since Williams and Blackmore left. In fact I'm rather avoiding DC on the whole."

"Yeah, they screwed the pooch on that one." Clint put the issue into its sleeve, keeping one eye on Coulson because any guy who turned down hot lesbian action had to be a little bit gay. Just a little. Maybe.

Coulson looked at a new trade of the classic _A Distant Soil_ , which was not a title that Clint would have pegged him for since it was more popular with the female demographics and Coulson's tastes ran towards Captain America and Wolverine. He added it to his 'buy' pile with a wistful smile before turning back to Clint, and Clint chucked another dime into the "possibly maybe might be a little bit gay _HELL YEAH_ " bucket. Phil gave him a very serious look. "And, I would just prefer to give my money to businesses that are, on the whole, more supportive of alternative lifestyles." 

Clint figured there was no leap like the present so took the shot, mixed metaphors be damned. "As a gay man, I appreciate that. I wish more of our customers had that attitude."

Phil startled. "Oh. You're?"

Clint aggressively checked the paper roll in the credit card machine. "Yeah. That a problem?"

Phil shook his head. "No! Of course not." But he wandered away pretty quickly, and Clint figured that "queer ally" did not translate to "hot for Clint" and smacked himself internally for getting his hopes up. He resorted to re-re-sorting a box of customer folders for no reason, until he felt the peculiar sensation of being watched. He glanced up and Phil quickly looked away, focusing on the open book in his hand…that was very clearly upside down.

Huh. Clint tapped his fingers on the edge of the box, wracking his brain for a recent title that Phil might _not_ have heard of featuring a queer superhero. The situation warranted further testing.


End file.
